


Black 1936 Ford Coupe

by AkaneNyx



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Angela Forever, Episode Tag, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Tattoos, Texas, The Science in the Physicist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 16:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaneNyx/pseuds/AkaneNyx
Summary: My take on how Jack ended up in the desert at the end of The Science in the Physicist.The stool beside him creaked. He had met a lot of people in his lifetime, but the man beside him, Jack Hodgins, was the ballsy-est.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from my fanfiction.net account
> 
> This was my first foray into fanfiction. Please be kind.

Billy Gibbons sat at a stool at the far end of the bar in a dingy little roadhouse on the south side of town. The bartender, who had been watching him with a quite air of recognition, looked up when the door opened. Billy watched in the smoke-filmed mirror that hung behind the bar as the new patron crossed the worn wood floor. He lifted his mug and took another sip of his beer and then returned it to the bar, watching as the straw spun in the mug after he’d set it down too hard.

The stool beside him creaked, but Billy did not acknowledge the company. He had met a lot of people in his lifetime. His line of work assured that. But the man beside him, Jack Hodgins, was the ballsy-est.

Still not turning to face the man beside him, Billy motioned for the bartender. Silently he motioned a dusty, unlabeled bottle on a shelf behind the bar and then nodded toward Hodgins. “Straight. No ice. No chaser,” he added as an afterthought. The bartender’s widened eyes betrayed him for a moment and Billy could sense Hodgins’s new tension.

The drink was quickly placed in front of the scientist, who gingerly took a sip. Billy continued to watch him in the mirror and found amusement in the way his face contorted with the burn of the alcohol. He was surprised when Jack threw back the rest of the drink and then sat it on the bar and spoke. “Mr. Gibbons. They said you were in town looking for me. Angela actually told me to leave until things cooled off. I figure we might as well get this over with.”

Undoubtedly the ballsy-est man he’d ever met. He thought back on the last time he talked with the man on the stool beside him. Cars and guitars and guns: that’s what they had discussed.

Billy picked up his beer and took another sip through the straw before motioning for the bartender to refill Jack’s glass. He knew from what his daughter had told him that Jack would be too polite in this sort of a situation to turn down the drink.

He remained silent as the reflection of the man that he had come to town to seek a sort of over-protective vengeance on picked up the glass and emptied it again. He returned it to the bar and stared at it a moment, before motioning to the bartender himself and having it refilled again.

There was something on this man’s face that was familiar, Billy realized as Jack stared dejectedly at his third drink. The older man turned slightly to face him. The boy was in pain, he realized. There was a degree of irony to it, and for the first time that night, he spoke, “I can’t do anything to you that you’re not doing to yourself.”

“Maybe a physical manifestation of it wouldn’t be as bad,” Jack replied, knocking back another drink.

The bartender didn’t wait for another signal; instead he refilled the glass as soon as it hit the counter. Billy turned back to his beer and took another sip. “Is that what you want?” He wouldn’t really be breaking his promise to Angela if Jack asked for the beating that he had intended to deliver.

“Maybe it’s what I deserve,” Jack said thoughtfully. The alcohol was catching up to his brain and the words were coming easier. “Maybe all she wants is something casual. Maybe I should be flattered that she would want it with me.” The drink disappeared and he drew in a deep breath. “Is it so wrong to want more?”

The understanding hit Billy harder than he expected. It was as Angela had said; they had hurt eachother. And for a brief moment he found himself viewing Jack as a victim of his daughter instead of Angela being hurt by him. It slowly registered that Jack was still talking, his rambling speech only pausing for him to take in air or more alcohol..

“…so close to perfect that it’s not even funny and everything I do causes her pain, which hurts me too. Even today, with the turkey. How was I supposed to know it would bounce? And I had to be the one to explain that it’s just been moments with us. And then Lance suggests that she should try celibacy for a while, and she is, and I hope that helps her get things straightened out in her mind. Lance, the shrink, thinks you sold your soul to the devil. Says you’re sinister. Lance is an idiot. Helped me see that it was normal to be angry with the world back when Zack was working for the cannibal right about the time when things fell apart with Angela and I, but he’s still and idiot…”

Billy managed to not chuckle at his remark about selling his soul and listened as the now-drunk scientist rambled on. He stopped listening to the exact words, but noted that the longer the man’s speech went on, the more slurred things came out. Angela’s name was always handled with care. Even as Jack leaned precariously on his stool, the exact number of drinks that he had downed long since lost count of, and the entire sentence ran together, her name was spoken with reverence.

He waved the bartender over, paid the tab and purchased the remainder of the bottle. “He’ll be around for his car later.”

“Right.”

Billy hoisted Jack to his feet and pulled his wallet from his pocket. When he opened it a small picture caught his eye. It was a wallet-sized self-portrait of Angela. The lamination was peeling apart around the edges. It was well worn, well loved. He pulled a bill from the wallet and tucked it back into Jack’s pocket. “This is for not seeing us here tonight?”

“Excuse me?”

“We were never in here,” he said, passing the bill to the bartender.

“Oh. Right.” The bartender glanced down at the bill. It was a secret that he would have kept for a twenty. Billy realized this, but he had still handed the man a hundred.

“C’mon Jack. Let’s get you home.”

He guided Hodgins as he stumbled across the parking lot, passed the little red Mini Cooper, and toward an old black Ford coupe. Jack managed to stay upright while Billy opened the passenger door and helped him onto the bench seat.

He nearly laughed when the man laid down with a slight groan, stretching out across the bench seat. He walked around the car and climbed in behind the wheel, sliding into the passenger seat, pushing Jack out of the way, and putting the bottle on the passenger floorboard.

The car roared to life and Billy tore out of the parking lot. He understood the car. The ’36 Ford coupe had a heart and soul and a mind of its own. The way to Hodgin’s estate was simple, but not something that his car was willing to agree to. And who was he to argue with a car thirteen years his senior?

The car might as well been on autopilot. It didn’t disturb him; it gave him time to think. His prior thoughts of how perhaps it was Jack who should have his sympathies returned. Angela had put her mark on him. It wasn’t one that was going to fade. For many men, her pretty face would have been enough. For many men, one night would be enough. This one it was different.

Jack Hodgins loved his daughter. He respected her. Even more, he deserved his daughter. Angela wouldn’t have appreciated that sentiment, but it was a father’s prerogative to think it.

The next thing he knew he was pulled up in front of a little tattoo shop in Lynchburg, Virginia. He had been here before. They had inked Angela’s birth name and birth date into his skin a few weeks after she was born. The picture had come later: the black and white face of a smiling toddler with dark curly pigtails.

That little girl had left her mark on Billy, despite the fact that he barely saw her. In a way that was the same thing that had happened to the man that he was currently hoisting from his passenger seat.

He half-drug Jack through the door. The place looked the same but the receptionist was new. She gasped at the sight of him, looking slightly star-struck. “Reverend Willie G?” she asked excitedly.

“I’m just Billy tonight, ma’am. Does Frank still work here?”

“He’s not in tonight. His boy is.”

“Little Eric?”

“Not so little anymore,” came a deep voice from behind him. “Daddy taught me everything that he knows. What can I do for you tonight Mr. Gibbons?”

“This boy is going to be my son-in-law,” he said, without much thought as to the idea that it might have been a lie at the time. “Years ago your daddy put my little girl’s face on my arm. He needs the same.”

“But he’s a bit…”

“He’s a good man, but from a different sort of place that I am. He wants it but he’s a bit squeamish. There’s a half empty bottle in my car that serves at a testament to his nerves.”

The tattoo artist nodded his head knowingly. “Do you have a picture?”

“It’s in his back pocket,” Billy laughed. He reached for Jack’s wallet and pulled out the picture.

“Beautiful girl,” Eric said as he waked back through the studio.

“Thank you,” Billy said as he lowered Jack into the chair. “Put a double banner below her face. ‘Angela’… ‘Forever’,” he said without a thought. His little girl had permanently marked this one. There was no use in him carrying it around on the inside only.

Eric smiled. “Of course.”

Two hours later Eric wiped Jack’s arm off one last time and applied a gauze bandage over the fresh tattoo. The excessive alcohol had done its part. Jack barely acknowledged that he knew where he was or what he was doing. In retrospect, Billy realized that ether would have been a more effective form of sedation, but nothing had been planned.

Once Eric was paid and generously tipped, Billy hauled Jack back to the car. Once they were both inside, Jack came around. “My arm hurts,” he said through a barely recognizable slur.

“Have a drink then,” Billy advised. “It’ll take the edge off.”

Jack nodded and looked around the car from his slightly skewed position. Once he located the bottle he took a draught from it.

“Easy on that,” Billy advised. “I don’t want to have to explain your alcohol poisoning to my daughter.”

“Angela,” he murmured in response, before passing out.

Billy caught the bottle before it toppled onto the bench seat and recapped it. He started the car with the intent to deliver Hodgins back to Washington D.C. He planned to either leave Jack on the passenger seat of his little car or to return him to his house. However, once he was out of the studio’s parking lot, the black coupe seemed to have different ideas. Billy’s mind briefly flitted back to Jack telling him that the psychologist believed that he had sold his soul. He was fairly certain that his was still intact, but he was beginning to question that of his car.

Stopping only for coffee and driving well above the legal speed limit, the two men crossed into Texas sixteen hours later. At five in the afternoon local time he pulled off the road in front of a large billboard that advertised the amenities of a truck stop a mile down the road.

It wasn’t sunrise, but it would do. The heat and the sun would bring him around quickly while still giving him a chance to escape without answering any difficult questions. He didn’t worry about Jack dehydrating as he’d been passing him a bottle of water during his conscious moments for the last seventy miles or so.

Billy wasn’t sure what drove him as he pulled Jack to his feet. The man was slowly coming around. He had slept through most of the ride and thankfully avoided puking in the car. He led him out through the short brush. About a hundred yards from the road, Jack stumbled and fell to his knees. This would do. The man rolled to his back and faced the sun, closing his eyes tightly, falling back asleep.

He chuckled as he glanced Jack sprawled out on the ground before turning and walking back to his car. He sat along the road with the motor running until Jack stood and looked around. Then he drove town the road to the truck stop.

He pulled the car around the back and went inside. He ordered a cup of coffee, which was brought to him by an older woman named Evelyn. She smiled kindly but didn’t make any remarks about his identity. This is what he liked about Texas. Everyone recognized him, but no one treated him as any more than a neighbor.

When she brought the pot around to refill his cup, he declined. “Evelyn, in a few minuets a man named Jack is going to come through that door with a picture of my daughter, Angela, tattooed on his arm,” he said, pulling a recent photograph of the young woman from his wallet.

“Oh?” she asked, trying to not look intrigued, least she be perceived as nosy.

“Yes. He’s a scruffy little fellow and he’ll smell of alcohol. I’m afraid he’s not very happy with me. You see, among other things, I got him drunk and I have his phone. I need you to dial this number for him and return his cell while it’s ringing,” he said scribbling Angela’s cell phone number on a napkin. “He’ll need a ride home and I have to be out west at a show.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Gibbons,” she said with a smile.

“Very good. Now I’ve got to get on the road. If he’s not in within the hour send one of the boys after him. I left him out about a mile or so to the east.”

She nodded.

“Thank you much, ma’am,” he said standing, and passing her the phone before tossing a bill on the table and heading toward the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

Barely half an hour after Angela had asked if anyone had seen Jack, her phone rang. The conversation at their table came to a halt when she spoke. “Jack! Jack is that you?”

“Angela?” he asked, his voice sounding groggy.

“Sweetie, you sound like hell. Are you alright?”

“I’m not hurt. A little displaced, discolored, and hung-over, but not really hurt.”

“Where are you?”

“I… I don’t really know. The sign on the door said Rocky’s Roadside Restaurant…”

“But that’s in Texas!”

“I figured as much when I woke up in the desert about an hour ago.”

“What?!”

“I’ll fill you in when I get home.”

“And just how do you plan on doing that?”

“I’ll call Doug and have him fly down.”

“I’ll come along?”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, sounding panicked.

“Jack, what aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing Angela. Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m going to worry! It was my father who drug you out there. I’ll quit worrying when I pick you up and make sure that you’re alright.”

“But…”

“No buts. You’re almost two hours from the airport.”

“I can hitch a ride.”

“Absolutely not. Do you know many friends he has down there? I’ll call Doug. You sit tight.”

“There’s no arguing with you, is there?”

“None.”

“Fine. Send me the flight schedule.”

“Of course. I’ll call you as soon as I get a car rented.”

“Thanks Angela,” came his grudging reply.

She smiled warily as she hung up and faced a table full of curious faces. “My father dropped Hodgins off in the desert near a truck stop that I worked at as a teenager.”

“Seriously?” Cam asked, sounding more than a little surprised.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Taking tomorrow off?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’ll expect to see you the next day. I’m going to cut tonight short, Michelle will be home from practice in about twenty minutes and I want to get home first.”

“Of course,” Booth agreed.

“And I’ve got to call Doug and then go change clothes.”

“Who’s Doug?” Brennan asked.

“One of Cantilever’s pilots. I convinced Jack to let me fly along down and drive out into the desert to pick him up.”

“Well good luck,” Booth offered.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Texas, Jack was sitting at the counter with an empty cup of coffee.

Evelyn smiled as she refilled his cup. “Honey. Do you want me to cut off your other sleeve? You’re looking a bit lopsided.”

“What?” he asked, obviously confused.

“Your shirt, honey.”

He looked down at his arms and then muttered, “Aw hell, my shirt!”

Evelyn looked at him curiously.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… my shirt…”

“You must have really liked that shirt.”

“Not really. Angela’s picking me up. I’m going to need a shirt. One with sleeves.”

The waitress suddenly understood. “She didn’t know that you were getting that tattoo.”

“ _I_ didn’t know that I was getting it.”

“Oh?”

“I woke up like this about a mile from here, flat on my back in the sand.”

“Billy has always had a sense of humor.”

Jack looked sullenly at his cup. “Angela warned me that he knew everyone down here.”

“I’m not sure when she became ‘Angela,’ but Billy’s little girl worked here one summer. I’d say she was about sixteen at the time…”

* * *

Angela called Doug from the car on the way back to her apartment. He took note of the destination and then arranged the flight. Doug called her back quickly with the departure time and the gesture of already having booked a rental car. She sent Jack a text message, then took a quick shower and quickly dressed before driving to the airport.

She had met Doug only once before but did not hesitate to greet him with a hug. He was an older man who had earned his wings flying missions over Vietnam. Angela, who was never really able to relax on a plane, was fast asleep just minutes after take-off. She hadn’t even realized that she was tired, let alone sleeping, until Doug’s voice came over the speaker system.

“Angela, we’re going to be landing in about twenty minutes.”

She blinked sleepily before yelling through the open cockpit door. “Thanks, Doug!”

She quickly made her way to the small bathroom and then back to her seat, buckling in just before Doug flicked on the ‘fasten seatbelts’ sign. The landing was flawless and she applauded excitedly. The pilot laughed heartily.

The waitress on night shift, a thin blonde girl named Megan, was wiping off tables. The business was slow, only two old truckers at the counter, the night shift mechanic sitting just inside the door drinking coffee, and the young man sleeping in the corner booth. Evelyn had told her about Jack when shifts changed. The story seemed fantastical somehow. Seriously, what kind of father kidnaps his daughter’s ex-fiancé, allows or forces him to get the woman’s face tattooed on his arm, and then abandons him in the middle of a desert halfway across the country. If Evelyn was to be believed, the father in question was Billy Gibbons. Everyone who knew Billy knew that he wasn’t altogether there, but this was a bit much.

Jack’s phone rang, but the man slept on. It was the third time in the last ten minuets. With a sigh, Megan dropped her rag on the table and went to wake the sleeping patron. She sat a cup of coffee down on the table and shook the man’s un-tattooed shoulder.

He woke with a start, face to face with the blonde who smiled. “Your phone’s been ringing, hun.”

He nodded and reached for it, quickly checking for missed calls and redialing Angela’s number. Just as she answered the phone gave a beep that warned of a dying battery.

“Battery is about dead, talk fast,” he greeted her.

“We landed safely. I’ll be there in about an hour and a half to two hours.”

“Good. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Jack was briefly thankful for dying phones, as the awkward conversation had been postponed again.

After drinking the cup of coffee before him, he stood and headed to the trucker’s store. He hadn’t expected much of a selection, but he was still disappointed to not be able to find a dark, long sleeved shirt without the familiar silhouette of a mud flap girl across the chest. It would have to do.

He walked toward the cash register to pay for the shirt; gathering basic toiletries along the way, when the sign for the showers drew him like a beacon. When he asked about it, the boy behind the counter handed him a towel, a washcloth, and a key, after adding seven dollars to his bill. It could have been seventy and he would have agreed, for as filthy as he felt.

* * *

He was sitting at the counter, just finishing his burger when Angela slid into the seat beside him.

“You’re alright?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if he had?”

“Of course.”

Unable to hold back any longer, she gave him a hug. She pulled back quickly to look at him. “What’s with the shirt?” she asked, obviously amused.

He managed a weak laugh. “The other one stank.”

“You cut your sleeves off your jacket.”

“I noticed that once I sobered up,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s hot down here.”

She finally laughed. “Come on,” she said, opening her purse to throw some bills on the counter to cover his meal. “I want to hear all about this on the way home.”

He hoped his laugh didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “Honestly, I don’t remember much of it.”


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a long week since Jack had returned home. The entire situation had done little but bring the tension between he and Angela back to the surface and cause his nights to alternate between restlessness and vivid dreams. It had begun again: all of the feelings: the falling, the devotion. He hadn’t even thought about his subscription to Date or Hate until it had become a part of the case. Her blase reaction had pushed him to try to move on, despite what he was feeling. After the night out with Wendell and his girl friends, he thought he would be more relaxed, but instead he spent the night feeling like a cheater. She would have been happy for him, but he couldn't be happy for himself.

The conversation had been good, as was the food. One of the girls, a blonde in her last year of nursing school, was particularly intriguing. She had a light laugh and an amazing body that would have held any man’s attention all night. Any other man’s, that is. Jack knew that his eyes had kept wandering to the quiet black-haired woman to her right. She had ebony curls, set exactly the way that Angela wore hers for a night on the town. He knew that he was welcome with the group, but he felt like the odd man out, and so he had excused himself not long after the dessert plates had been cleared. He had passed Wendell some cash to help cover dinner and had made his excuses about having to be back at the lab early the next morning. Only the two men at the table knew that anything was amiss; the girls had readily invited him to their next get-together. The blonde had passed him her number. It ended up in the trash can in the men's room.

The night should have been a success, but by any measure it wasn’t. He knew he was trying to get away from her, but you can't escape something that's inked into your skin. And that had lead him to where he was now, wearing a groove in gray, institution-grade carpet.

* * *

Booth returned to his office from dragging Bones out to lunch to find Hodgins in his office. He didn’t enter at first, opting instead to watch the pacing man through the glass door. Even Bones would have been able to discern that there was something on his mind.

He took a moment to ask himself when he had become a counselor before he committed to opening the door. First it had been Sweets, and now it was apparent that Hodgins had come seeking some sort of advice. It was evident in the way that the man now carried himself and the way that his eyes had darted around at the slightest sound since Angela brought him back from Texas: He had a secret; a big one.

As soon as Booth stepped through the door, Jack began rambling, sounding every bit the crazy conspiracy theorist that Booth had pigeonholed him as when they first met, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going crazy. I’ve got to tell someone. I can't trust this to anyone else. You're good with secrets. You have to be with your job now and your job before. Angela says that you even keep secrets from yourself. I think you just leave the rest of us in the dark, but that's not the point. The point is that I have to get this off my chest. Well not really my chest... more my... well, I've got to tell someone, and it's going to have to be you.”

“Slow down. Tell me what?”

“Sorry man. About how I ended up in Texas.”

That wasn't the answer Booth expected, “Shouldn’t you be talking to Angela about this?”

“No!” Jack said, a bit too forcefully.

“Alright. Why not?” he asked, lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of his desk and motioning for the other man to do the same.

Jack remained standing. “Because, well…” he faltered before trying again. “You see… Ah, hell,” he said, pulling his long sleeved shirt off. The white tank that he wore beneath it did nothing to hide the source of his stress, and he turned so that Booth could see his left arm. “Because I woke up in the desert with this!”

“Whoa!”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell me how that happened?”

“That's why I'm here. I gotta tell someone,” Jack said with a nod. “I was tired of everyone being worried about what would happen if Mr. Gibbons found me, so I went looking for him. I found him at Mully’s Roadhouse, you know, just south of town.”

“I know Mully’s.”

“He had the old man pour me a drink of... well, I’m still not sure what it was, but it was the strongest thing that I've ever drank. And then another. And another. And the next thing I know I’m telling him everything and half the bottle is gone.”

“And by everything you mean…?”

“I’m pouring my damn heart out. It should have been embarrassing, but I was too far gone to care. Then things get fuzzy. I remember being on an old couch in a car, if that even makes sense. I remember hearing a woman call Mr. Gibbons ‘Reverend something-er-other’.”

“Willie G.” Booth supplied. "And the car was probably his black Ford."

“Yeah. And there was a man named Eric.” Jack shook his head, obviously aggravated that the memories wouldn’t come any clearer. “We got back in the car, and I and remember my head and arm throbbing. I took another drink from the bottle, he must have bought it from Mully. I think I passed out, because the next thing that I really remember was being flat on my back in the sand looking up at the sun.”

“Are you wanting to file kidnapping charges? Because, I’m not really who you need to talk to about that.”

Jack shook his head. “He didn’t want me dead. I followed my tracks back to the road. I was only about a hundred yards from it, and right at a sign for a truck stop that was a mile away.”

“What about for the tattoo? I’m guessing it wasn’t exactly your idea. No offense, but you don't seem the type.”

“I’m not even sure about that," he admitted. "It’s the same as a little sketch of her that I keep in my wallet.”

“One of the guys down in Organized Crime just had a couple tattoos removed. I could get the name of the doctor…”

“You know, I wear shirts that cover it around the house. I don’t like seeing it when I pass mirrors and I’m afraid someone will drop by and I’ll have to explain it and I'm not sure I can. I didn’t think I’d ever be grateful for Angela’s venture into celibacy, but when we were on the plane back home, I was. Because, I mean there was a time... It's just... I don’t think I want her to know about it…”

Booth could see the conflict written on Jack's face. “But?” he asked.

“But I _like_ it. I shouldn’t, but I do. I don't need a visual reminder, but there's just something about it.” Jack shook his head and turned to the door. “I thought it would be better if it didn’t feel so much like a dirty secret, but it’s not. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Hodgins, We all have marks from them,” Booth said to his back as he was leaving the room. The agent's words came out in a sad tone, just above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, turning back into the office.

Booth rolled up a sleeve, revealing his tattoos, the two Jack had known about on his wrists, and two that resided just below the insides of his elbows. “We can either deny them and cover them up or we can own them, but we all have marks,” he said holding his arms out on display to the scientist.

“I can’t read them,” he admitted.

“Soul and Faith,” he said pointing to the kanji on one arm, first the one on his wrist, then the one at his elbow. “Destiny,” he continued, pointing at the opposite wrist. “I’ve had the ones on my wrists since my days in the Army.”

“When did you get the other two?” Jack asked, knowing there was more to the story.

“About a week and a half af… after the Gr-… after she got me off that boat.”

“What’s the last one say?” he asked, trying to pull Booth from his dark reminiscing over his time as the Gravedigger’s captive. In his mind Jack had already made guesses. He assumed the answer would be ‘safety,’ or ‘refuge,’ maybe even ‘hope’.

Booth looked at the man with a wry smile and a slight twinkle in his eye. “When people ask me that, I tell them it means ‘moderation’.”

Jack didn't manage to tamp down his surprise before it flickered across his face. “Man, that’s heavy,” he muttered before turning and exiting the office. He didn’t bother to put his overshirt back on; instead he walked out of the Hoover Building with his arms and his heart exposed.


End file.
